“There is an old woman, Maelga, down the road who does such things for them. Is it her you seek?”
He shook his head. “No. I came—on impulse. To ask one question of you. Have you heard of a boy living on this mountain yet belonging to no one of the mountain? Think carefully. I will pay a great deal for the truth.”
“What is his name? His age?”
“He is twelve years old—thirteen, come spring. As for his name—it could be anything.” He heard shouting suddenly through the trees and turned. Tam and Nyl ran down the mountainside toward them, laughing, awkward in the deep snow. Tam’s light voice came clear across the stillness.
“Nyl! Nyl, wait! I saw riders—”
The King’s eyes moved back to Sybel. “Who are they?”
“Mountain children. They have lived here always“ She spoke absently, seeing Ter pick up speed, fly ahead of Tam in a swift, dark line toward her. He landed abruptly on the King’s shoulder, and she caught his blue eyes and said,
No.
The King stood quietly beneath the heavy talons, his mouth twitching a little. “Is he yours?”
“Yes. He is good protection for a lonely woman.” She gave Ter a single word: Off, and he moved after a moment to the wall behind her. The King drew a soundless breath.
“I have never seen one of that size. I wonder that you do not fear him.”
“Surely you understand power.”
“I do. But…” His voice softened; a little, frayed smile came into his eyes like moving water behind a film of ice. “I am always a little afraid of those I have even that much power over.”
Nyl and Tam, slowed to a silent walk, reached them, their eyes slipping warily over the faces of the King’s guards.
“Sybel,” Tam said, and Drede turned. “Maelga wants you.” He reached out instinctively to soothe the King’s horse, a question in his wide eyes, and Sybel said gently,
“This man is from Mondor; he has come in search of someone he lost.”
Nyl came to stand beside Tam, his breath pulsing white in and out of the air. The King said to them, “Do you know of a boy your own age living on the mountain who was not born here?” Nyl shook his head, and the King’s eyes flicked to Tam. “Do you? There will be a reward.”
Tam swallowed. His hand moved slowly up and down the horse’s velvet neck. “No,” he said at last. His voice caught, and he said again, “No“ The King’s iron brows knit a little.
“What are your names?”
“I am Nyl,” said Nyl. “This is my brother Tam“
“Your brother? You do not look alike.” He touched a strand of Nyl’s black hair, fallen across his bony, freckled face, loosed from his cap.
“We never did,” said Tam. And then he was still as the King’s hand touched his head, pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal his ivory hair.
Ter Falcon gave a cry behind them. The King lifted Tam’s face with one hand and Tam’s mouth shook. Then it pulled into a smile that blazed across his eyes. The King closed his eyes. He loosed Tam and turned to Sybel.
“I must speak to their mother. Has she told you anything of her sons? Anything strange?”
“No,” Sybel said. “Nothing. They are simple children.
The King’s eyes held hers for a long moment. “What do you know of this truly, I wonder, you who know me. I think perhaps I shall come to see you again.” He turned, put a hand on Tam’s shoulder. “Take my horse. Lead me to your home.”
“Our mother is not home,” Nyl said suddenly. “She went to help Marte, who is having a baby. Shall I get her?”
“Yes. Go,” said Drede, and he ran ahead of them swiftly through the trees. Tam turned the horse, murmuring to it. He gave Sybel one flash of his white face as they left. She turned and went back through the garden into the still house, to the domed room where she sat, her hands quiet in her lap, her eyes unseeing.
Tam came back after a long while. He went to her silently, crept close to her under the fall of her long hair as though he were a small child again. For a long time he was silent. Then he said softly,
“Nyl ran ahead, and told his mother what lie we told the King. So—he left unsure of me. Sybel—”
She felt him trembling. “What, Tam?”
“He—we talked a little. He—” His head dropped suddenly onto her knees. Her hand moved gently over his hair as he cried, his hands crumpling her skirt. He quieted finally, and she lifted his face between her hands.
“My Tam, it is not such a terrible thing for a boy to want his father.”
“But I love you, too! I do not want to leave you, but—I wanted—I wanted—to say I was his son and watch his eyes—to see if he was pleased with me. We talked of Ter—he said it was a marvelous thing that I was not afraid to hunt with him.” He stared up at her, heavy-eyed, desperate. “I do not know what to do. I want to stay and I want to go. Sybel— If I go—would you come?”
“But Tam, what would I do with the animals?”
“You must come! Bring the animals— Sybel, he would want you to come— Coren wanted you— You could do things for him—”
“Against the Lords of Sirle?” she said a little sharply and he was silent. “That is what he would use me for.”
“I do not care what he would use you for,” Tam whispered. “I want you to come.”
She shook her head, her eyes dark. “No, my Tam. I will do anything for you but that. You have your life to make and I have mine. I am sorry, but you must choose between us. I will always be here in this mountain when you have need of me— No, do not cry, my Tam—” She smiled, her own eyes wet, and wiped the tears from his face with her fingers. “You were so small and soft once,” she whispered, “and you fit so surely in my arms… I did not know then that you would grow up to hurt me so.”
“Sybel, come with me—please come—”
“My Tam—” she said helplessly, and he rose suddenly, ran from her through the house, and out into the yard where she heard his cry to Ter through the softly falling snow.
She rose slowly, went unseeing to the fire and held her hands to it. The Cat Moriah watched her silently, emerald eyes unblinking. Then she put on her cloak and went out, down the path to Maelga’s house.
She sat down wordlessly on the sheepskin beside the fire, resting her face against the stones, staring at the flames beneath Maelga’s cauldron. Maelga moved softly through her house, doing odd work, while the gray cat wove in and out of her path. After awhile Maelga knelt beside Sybel and put her arms around her, and Sybel’s face dropped hidden against her shoulder.
“My child, what is it?” Maelga whispered. “What lies so frozen in your eyes that you cannot even weep?” Her hand stroked the pale, gleaming hair again and again, until Sybel whispered, her voice dry and soft and distant,
“Tam is leaving me. Do you have a spell for that?”
“Oh, White One, in all the world there is no spell for that.”
Tam spoke little to her the following days. She saw him rarely as he came to eat and sleep, then left, silent, dark-eyed, with Ter on his fist or Nyl at his side to roam the winter world. She worked little, sitting for long hours with half-finished tapestry on her lap or pacing restlessly before the fire. The animals were silent around her, moving with soft secret steps and still watching through the house and the yard. Finally one gray morning she went to the domed room and stared out at the white, cold world, at the endless, soundless flakes of snow. And there she sent a call down to the city of Mondor to trouble the heart of the Eldwold King.
He came that day alone through the winter. She met him at her gates, with Gules Lyon and the Boar Cyrin watching behind her. The King looked at her, silently, faintly puzzled, and she said,
“I called you.”